


Nephilim

by QueenForADay



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (The Boys are the Latter), Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Nephilim, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Others Have Parenthood Thrust Upon Them, Parenthood, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Protective Crowley, Sex, Smut, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Some People Are Made Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-04-08 08:42:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: It's been a couple of weeks since the Almost End of the World, and all is quiet. Until the Archangel Zadkiel and the Demon Azazel are outside Aziraphale's bookshop, holding hands, and with a baby in their arms.Or, "Obligatory Husbands Are Handed A Baby and are Forced to Become Honorary Dads".





	1. Chapter 1

The world was meant to end a couple of weeks ago. It didn’t – thankfully. Crowley can only think of the inconveniences it would have caused if it had actually gone to plan. But no; the Antichrist that was supposed to ignite the damn thing just didn’t want to do it. And that was that.

Everything was righted then. Aziraphale had his bookshop back. Crowley has his car. All things are as it should be; right in their old place.

Apart from the fact that neither of them currently have supervisors anymore. Which, when Crowley thinks about it, could turn out to be a great thing. Sure, he’s incredibly aware that all this means is that Gabriel and Beelzebub are planning something for both of them. But what use would worry do? Besides, it’s Aziraphale who does all of the fretting for them both.

And right now, he doesn’t seem all that bothered.

If Gabriel had a problem with Aziraphale and Crowley being friends, then some distant part of him hopes that Gabriel is somehow keeping an eye on them now. Maybe he can see moments like this; both bared bodies entangled with each other, sheets of the bed kicked down to the floor. Even with the faintest of lighting coming from a few lamps dotted throughout the room, he can still feel and see every inch of the angel on top of him.

Crowley grins as he imagines a new stress-induced vein popping up on the archangel’s temple. Beelzebub – and he’s _really_ not trying to imagine either of them during sex, but the idea is too funny – could be dry-retching over their throne if they were informed of what was happening.

“That’s it. Keep going, angel,” he breathes against Aziraphale’s ear. The effect is instant. Crowley has his hands clutched against the angel’s back. Beneath his palms, he can feel Aziraphale’s wings shifting and fluttering; begging to be unfurled. Crowley catches the lobe of one ear between his teeth. The skin beneath his hands twitches again. Crowley can’t help the wickedly delightful laugh that’s trying to scrabble up through his throat. His gentle, soft angel has heavenly fire within him – something Crowley is all too happy to stoke.

He throws a hand backwards to press against the headboard. “You’re doing so well, angel.” A loud groan rips through his throat at a particularly well-placed thrust. “ _Fuck_ , keep going.”

Aziraphale hasn’t spoken a word. Against the flesh of his neck, Crowley can feel the angel’s hot breath over his skin. Occasionally, a deep groan is hidden into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

He tightens his legs around the angel’s hips. With one easy movement, he’s able to flip them over. For a second, Aziraphale’s eyes widen. The demon sits back. The movement brings out a choked groan from the angel. He knows it’s a lot. Some trace of adrenaline still lingers in their veins from stopping the world from ending. Every so often, they’ll remember how close they came to losing everything; and it sets the heart racing.

That, combined with the natural surge of energy and emotions that having sex brings, Crowley’s just surprised that the angel hasn’t burst into tears. Yet.

Crowley pulls on Aziraphale’s hands, pulling the angel’s chest to his. Almost instantly, Aziraphale’s arms go around him, keeping him close. “I don’t mean to kill the mood by saying this or anything,” he breathes, letting his own arms loosely fold over his angel’s shoulders. “But I would _really_ appreciate it if you fucked me so hard that both Gabriel and Beelzebub could hear me.”

Heat flashes across Aziraphale’s cheeks. A ruddy blush sits firmly there. “ _Crowley_ -”

And he can’t help but laugh. The angel’s hands find his hips easy enough, like they had always been programmed to go there. Crowley dips his head down, catches the angel’s lips in a slow kiss, and chuckles as he pulls away. “I want them to know what you’re doing to me,” he whispers, glancing down at themselves. It won’t take long. It never does. There’s a fire starting to burn scorching hot inside of him. Crowley tilts his head back, staring straight up at the ceiling. _Look at this, you bastards_ , he thinks gleefully. The thought is almost instantly thrown away he can feel himself tumbling towards the edge.

“ _Come on angel_ ,” he whispers hotly against Aziraphale’s ear.

All at once, everything becomes a bit too much. Every muscle in his body tightens, contracts, and explodes in sensation. His vision even whites out for a brief moment. He can feel Aziraphale following him over the edge. His hold on Crowley tightens, and within a couple of minutes, he brings them both down to lie on the bed.

Crowley isn’t actually sure how long he spends lying on top of the angel. As their breaths slowly return to them both, he presses his nose into the juncture of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder. His angel has always smelt nice.

A clap of thunder rumbles throughout the sky. Some minutes pass before the rain starts. Droplets patter against the window. Lying, strung out, across ‘his side’ of their bed, Crowley watches some raindrops race each other down the long, lancet window.

“Do you wanna go somewhere?” he eventually mumbles. Demons don’t need sleep. Angels don’t either. But Crowley loves sleep. He slept through an entire century once. If given the chance, he would probably do it again. But so much is happening within the world nowadays that he doesn’t want to miss a single second of it.

Aziraphale finishes grabbing the last of the bedsheets from the foot of the bed. He gently hands some over to the demon, but continues fretting and making sure every square inch of the bed is covered in comfortable down-feather and linen sheets. Crowley’s words eventually manage to get through to him. The angel picks up his head slightly. His brows are knitted together. “Go somewhere?”

“Yeah,” he says, “like, for a holiday.”

Aziraphale’s expression doesn’t change. “A holiday?”

Crowley arches an eyebrow. “Yes. A holiday. You know what that is, don’t you?”

“Of course I know what that is,” Aziraphale huffs. He settles down against a collection of plush pillows that have been pooled at the headboard of the bed. Aziraphale likes comfort. He’s had a comfortable life on this plain. “I’m just curious as to why you would even bring something like that up.”

Crowley hums. Perfectly comfortable and with sleep starting to pull at him, he manages to keep going. “I don’t know. You and I have been doing quite a lot of world-saving recently, and I thought that we should have a break.”

All it’s met with is a blank expression. “Right,” Aziraphale says, tugging the blankets snugly around himself. “I’ll...think about it.”

Crowley grins. “Good enough,” he says. Shuffling closer to Aziraphale, Crowley slides an arm around the angel’s waist and tugs him over. “We can talk about it in the morning, if you like?”

Before the angel can offer an answer, there is a knock on the door downstairs. It vibrates up throughout the building. Aziraphale bolts upright. The door is charmed; Crowley managed to get that bit of information out of the angel once. The door absorbs sound. Apparently, the angel had been annoyed by overly-enthusiastic students looking for his collections of rare books at ungodly hours in the morning. So he soundproofed the thing and that was the end of that.

Crowley says as much to the angel.

Aziraphale is out of bed within seconds. He grabs a housecoat and tugs it around himself. Crowley sighs. “Has the charm run out of fuel?” he says, watching the flustering angel quickly scamper over to the window.

His body freezes. “What in the name of...?”

“Who is it?”

Another answer left unanswered. With a flourish of a hand, Aziraphale miracles some clothes on to himself. Simple light coloured trousers and a pressed shirt. He leaves the housecoat on.

“I’ll be right with you, my dear, I just,” he points towards the hallway, “I need, I need to sort something out.” And within seconds, Aziraphale is gone.

Crowley arches an eyebrow. “Hmm.” He can still hear the angel scampering downstairs. “Oh fuck it,” he sighs, throwing the bedsheets off of him. His curiosity will be his downfall. _Then again_ , he thinks, _there isn’t much more falling to do_ _nowadays_. As he slips on jeans and a loose shirt, he follows the angel’s path to downstairs.

The overhead light of the bookshop is on, lighting Crowley’s way through the maze of bookshelves. “Who is it, angel?” he calls out, running a hand through his hair in some attempt to tame it.

No answer comes. But, when he strains his ears, he can pick up the hushed sound of Aziraphale’s voice. “ _What are you doing here?_ ”

 _“Please, Aziraphale._ ” Another voice. One that he doesn’t recognise. Crowley stalks forward. “ _Gabriel will kill us if he found out; you know that_.”

By the time Crowley reaches the front of the store, he finally sees who Aziraphale has been talking to. Standing at the door of the bookshop are an angel and a demon.

Both looking positively terrified. 


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley isn’t that familiar with Aziraphale’s kind. He’s had occasional encounters with angels in the past – nameless fledglings who think it their duty to hunt and fight demons. Crowley never retaliated, of course. There was always some silent agreement between Heaven and Hell; a member of one would not raise a hand to a member of another. They would save all of that pent up frustration and hatred for Armageddon. A rogue assassination would mean paperwork. Eventually, those fledglings had stopped pestering him. Crowley liked to think that Aziraphale may have had a hand in it: that he had gotten wind of what his overly-zealous younger siblings were doing and had words with them.

But as the angel standing at the door of the bookshop introduces herself, he blinks. He _has_ heard of this one. Zadkiel. An archangel. The _Benevolent One_ , as most called her.

And the demon standing just behind her, well, Crowley definitely knows him. “Azazel,” he says simply. The demon had opened his mouth to introduce himself, but snaps it shut as Crowley presses on. “What has brought you out of hell?”

The demon’s eyes – that look far too human and _un-demonlike_  – go to the angel. “Would you like to explain, my love?” he says in a drawling voice. Azazel’s body isn’t like any of the other demons within Hell. Where most of those in Hell have festering wounds laced through their skin, Azazel managed to hang on to his angelic looks. Demonic infection never quite settled in, despite the demon living in the very depths of hell for millennia.

Aziraphale blinks. It’s only then that both he and Crowley notice a small bundle cradled in Zadkiel’s arms.  Crowley cocks his head. Neither of them was particularly observant creatures on the Earth, but surely that isn’t a –

The bundle squirms. A tiny, pudgy, closed fist wrangles out of the linen bundle to flail about in the air for a moment. Almost immediately, Zadkiel’s brow softens and she coos at the child. “Hush now, we’re all safe,” she whispers. Behind her, Crowley notices, Azazel has stepped closer; peering over her shoulder to the bundle. Angels are an awfully caring and doting sort. And Crowley didn’t expect the angel of benevolence to be any different. But both she and Azazel shush with the child with such familiarity, as if—

“That thing isn’t yours,” Crowley asks slowly, “is it?”

It earns him an elbow into the ribs. “ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale scolds. His affronted look soon morphs into one of curiosity. “...But...is it?”

For a moment, the main floor of the bookshop is silent. It’s only broken by the sound of Zadkiel swallowing a lump in her throat. “Yes.”

Crowley lifts his chin and glances to the demon over her shoulder; who has been awfully quiet in the last few minutes, and has refused to look up at anyone else in the room. “Well?”

Even with the minimal but soft lighting casting an orange glow throughout the store, Crowley spots a warm blush rising to the demon’s cheeks. “We need your help,” is all Azazel mumbles. When he finally looks up to Crowley, his eyes are...soft. Nothing like those of a demon.

Aziraphale gestures further into the shop. “Come,” he urges, guiding the two of them and Crowley further into the store. Crowley arches an eyebrow. Aziraphale must have some shared history with this sibling. He doesn’t act this way with the others; with Michael or Gabriel. He certainly doesn’t invite just anyone upstairs – to his home.

The angels walk together. As they ascend the stairs, Crowley keeps his eyes on Aziraphale. He chats idly with his sibling, keeping a gentle hand on the small of her back. They talk quietly to each other; too quietly for Crowley to listen to.

Meanwhile, the demon by his side bristles. “It’s been a long time, old friend,” Azazel mumbles, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

Crowley hums. “We were on two separate plains,” he answers simply. He spent over six thousand years on Earth. Azazel was in some pit or other in the depths of hell doing...whatever it is that Azazel does. Or did.

Though, Crowley can’t help the small smile that threatens to curl along his lip, he seemed to be just fine cuddling up to an archangel. Crowley wonders vaguely if Gabriel or Michael knows about this—

Crowley stops, mid-step. “They don’t know, do they?” he stage-whispers to the demon at his side.

Azazel bows his head, cautiously avoiding Crowley’s eyes. “No, they don’t.” Taking a quick glance to the top of the stairs, Azazel sighs. “And we’d like to keep it that way. But...Well, Zadkiel can explain.”

Before the demon can slink off to his mate, Crowley grabs his arm. “No, _you_ ’ll explain. You seem like you have something that you want to get off of your chest.”

“Crowley?”

He looks up. At the top of the stairs is Aziraphale, head tilted slightly. “Are you both coming?”

He releases his grip on Azazel. “Yeah, we’ll be a sec.”

The angel looks between the two of them for a moment, but bustles after Zadkiel. Crowley narrows his eyes.

Zadkiel sits in a plush armchair near the centre of the room. Aziraphale sits near her, but at the edge of a long couch. With his living room devoid of any TVs, the room itself is quite spacious. But even up here is filled with shelves of different sizes, all stuffed with books and writings. He has a record player somewhere.

Crowley stalks along the length of the room, keeping to the walls. He watches with slanted eyes as Azazel almost immediately goes to Zadkiel’s side. He perches on the arm of the chair, and reaches down for the baby in her arms. A pudgy tiny hand wraps around his finger.

Aziraphale lets out a curious sound. “Forgive me for asking this again,” he starts, carefully analysing his words, “Is this child yours? Biologically speaking, I mean?”

It takes a second, but eventually Zadkiel nods.

All Aziraphale can offer as a response is a curious _hmm_. Crowley wanders over to a window that looks out on to London. The sky is uneventfully empty. Stars have come out since he last looked outside, but the rain is starting to pour down now. He scans the skies. No wildly flapping wings. No streaks of light bursting through the heavens.

 _No abrupt arrivals of angels_.

“I just never thought that such a union could...result in a child, that’s all.”

Zadkiel squares her jaw. “Well, neither did we,”

 _That_ earns Crowley’s attention. For a quick moment, he’s amused by the idea of even archangels being confused by the concept of the birds and the bees. Then again, he himself wasn’t entirely sure that the union of an angel and demon can result in a child. The bodies they were given tended to be human, but their very core was celestial. Or demonic, in his case. The bodies were placeholders. A vessel for them to comfortably walk around the world and not draw attention.

He supposes that if the vessel itself was a fully functioning man or woman, with reproductive parts, then that would answer the golden question of the night. _Why in Whoever’s name is there a baby in their living room_?

The child coos. Zadkiel looks down at it again, gently hushing. “Michael doesn’t know,” she says, “neither does Gabriel. Or anyone else.” When she looks back up at Aziraphale, a tear starts to trickle down her cheek. “They’d kill us, Aziraphale. They’ve killed angels over less.”

Crowley huffs. He knows all about it.

Aziraphale clicks his tongue. “Yes. They would, I suppose.”

With his finger still ensnared by the child, Azazel clears his throat. “We heard about you and Crowley; how you were both put on trial, and you both escaped unharmed.” He looks up. “We heard that the higher-ups on both of our sides are leaving you alone.”

A silent moment passes within the room. It’s broken by a harsh growl from Crowley. He marches over to the couches. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying-”

“-Our baby is in danger if she stays with us,” Zadkiel suddenly growls back. And for the archangel of benevolence, Crowley is slightly afraid that she’s fiercer than she looks. “Gabriel and Michael and even _bloody Beelzebub_ would be hunting us. She would never be safe. She can’t have a life.”

She looks over to Aziraphale, and instantly, her expression softens. “Please, just for a couple of months. We have a plan to get them off of our trail.”

Crowley looks to the angel. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions. He can see an entire battle of conscience take place throughout his face.

Zadkiel leans forward. She catches one of Aziraphale’s hands in hers. In her arm, the baby squirms. “Please, little brother,” she says gently, “just for a few months.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How did raising a child work out for us last time, hmm?” Crowley watches the question float right over Aziraphale’s head as the angel continues to coddle the bundle in his arms. Crowley tries to stamp down the warmth constricting his heart as the baby reaches out for one of the angel’s fingers. He takes a cautious step towards the angel. “Aziraphale,” he huffs, “we can’t.”

Zadkiel and Azazel are gone. It took them a while to actually leave. Tears were spilt over handing the child over; but Aziraphale had promised to them that it would be safe with them for the time being. That they would have their gremlin back within no time.

“Oh hush,” Aziraphale tuts. “Young Warlock turned out just fine-”

“-It was the wrong child, for starters-”

“-Sure, we were a bit all over the place. That’s true,” Aziraphale concedes, “but Zadkiel wouldn’t have risked coming here for nothing.”

Crowley narrows his eyes. This could be a trick. The baby could be a beacon, always broadcasting their location to Gabriel or Beelzebub. And, of course, they would play on Aziraphale’s goodness. He could never turn away a baby.

“Crowley?”

The demon blinks. Aziraphale is in front of him now, looking at him with _those_ eyes. “Crowley, my dear, she’s only a tiny tot,” he says softly.

Crowley sets his jaw. Peering down at the bundle, he’s met by two ash-coloured eyes blinking back up at him. He straightens. “It’s trouble.”

Aziraphale clicks his tongue. “Oh, be a brute if you like,” he huffs. “She’s staying here. With me.”

If Crowley’s jaw tightens any more, then he’ll crack teeth. He can feel them pressing tightly against each other. As Aziraphale bustles past with the bundle, he hisses. “If that thing gets you damned, angel, don’t come crying to me.” The words don’t seem to register. Crowley snarls. With a sharp click on his fingers, the bookshop’s door swings open and he steps out into the London night.

Something is starting to build. Something searingly hot. _Drown it_ , a voice whispers to him. _Drown it in alcohol._ His car, parked just around the corner of the bookshop, purrs to life.

 

* * *

 

 

A flicker of the overhead lights alerts him to Crowley’s departure. Aziraphale peers up. As soon as the lights right themselves, he continues walking back upstairs. The bundle in his arms squirms. “Hush now, little one,” he coos, “he’ll be back soon. He never stays gone for long.” Whether the words are for her or him, he isn’t quite sure. But all the child does is snuggle tighter into his chest.

The floors and walls around him shift and groan until he stops outside the door of a room wasn’t there before. Soft lighting highlights pale yellow walls. White coloured shelves and bookshelves line each wall, and right in the middle of the room, is a simple cot. He’ll conjure up something more permanent later. A room full of brightly coloured walls and plush toys for her. Then again, he thinks, he isn’t quite sure of how long she’ll have to stay with them.

Both Zadkiel and Azazel looked as though they were saying goodbye forever.

The baby fusses as she’s lain down into the cot. “I’ll be here,” Aziraphale says softly, nodding over to a plush armchair near the cot. “I’ll stay with you.” He unwraps the blanket from around her body, instead letting her lie on top of it. She’s already in a plain, oatmeal-coloured onesie. She manages to catch one of his fingers, and for a moment, he just lets her play with it. Her tiny hand barely wraps all the way around it.

 _They’re always so **small** , _he thinks. Human children are tiny little things. And this girl is no exception. He hasn’t seen Zadkiel in years. Gabriel and Michael are much more at home when looking into the matters of Earth-bound angels. Zadkiel’s job was just as a watcher; keeping an eye on both the sons of God and of men, making sure that all was in order.

Azazel, well, Aziraphale has never met him. But he seems like a nice young chap. He’s heard terrible rumours about the demons of Hell. Some turn out to be true. He’s never like Hastur or Ligur. But most tended to be like Crowley; banished to Hell for just asking too many questions. There’s not a maliciously bad bone in their body—

The baby gurgles, tugging on Aziraphale’s finger. “Crowley will be home soon, my dear,” he says gently, casting a quick glance to a lancet window overlooking the city. Off in the distance, the main centre of London is drenched in neon lights. The night sky is still empty.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Crowley stumbles back into the bookshop, the sun is threatening to rise again. Orange and purples streak through the sky overhead, chasing away the last of the night’s darkness.

He shakes his head. The last of the alcohol coursing through his veins flitters out with it. As the room rights itself, and stays steadily still, he looks over to the stairs. He swallows a lump trying to lodge itself within his throat. Ever since stepping out of the bookshop all those hours ago, thoughts have plagued and nattered at him. _He needs you, you idiot_ , they would hiss. _The best thing to ever happen to you is that angel, and what? You’ll walk out on him because of a baby?_

Crowley sheds his jacket and tosses it over the back of Aziraphale’s armchair – the one by his desk. The CLOSED sign is still hanging by the door. He suspects it will be like that for the next couple of days. Then again, it isn’t often that he’ll see people inside this shop.

He wanders upstairs eventually, swallowing the last of the anxiety trying to stick to him.

 _I’m afraid_ , is what he wants to say. _This baby could put you and me in even more trouble than we’re already in. And I know you’re a good angel who does good things, but sometimes, angels and demons will use that to their advantage and—_

There’s a room. A new room. Crowley blinks. Soft, warm light spills out of this new room and into the dark hallway. That’s...never been there before.

He slowly approaches it, as one would do to a startled horse. The door is pulled all the way open, and inside, Crowley notices, is a child’s room. The demon cocks his head. This _definitely_ wasn’t here when he left.

Stepping into the room, he’s surprised at the quietness of his steps. Usually, the floorboards upstairs creak and groan with footsteps. Loose floorboards that were never quite miracled back into place. But these ones seem to absorb sound.

There’s an armchair pulled up beside the cot. Crowley’s eyes soften as he sees Aziraphale slouched against it, fast asleep.

The sprog in the cot barely moves as he approaches. It’s splayed out within the centre of the cot, one fist near its mouth, while the other hand is flailed away.

He tilts his head. It’s not...the strangest creature he’s ever seen. The product of an angel and demon, he imagined horns and wings and scales. Extra limbs, or four eyes. Maybe even a tail. But no. As the baby reaches up for him with chubby fingers, he hums. It’s just that. A baby.

The thing wakes up, and for a second, Crowley holds his breath. If it starts crying, it’ll wake Aziraphale up. And he really doesn’t want to be dealing with a crying child. But the baby shoves one of its pudgy fists into its mouth and gurgles up at him. A small smile starts to tug at the corner of his lips. He can appreciate the silliness of children. He’s encountered enough of them throughout the millennia. Adults, adults he has problems with. Kids are just innocent little creatures—

There’s movement in the corner of his eye. “Crowley?” Aziraphale blinks as he straightens himself in the armchair.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, all too careful of disturbing the peaceful air that’s settled around them. But despite all of that, he gets out as much of his thoughts as he can. “I’m just afraid. I’m afraid someone will come and take you away, and I-”

“-Hush now, my dear,” Aziraphale tuts, getting up from the chair. “I know. I know how worried you are for us.” When he reaches Crowley’s side, he laces their fingers together. It’s still an odd sensation. Touching. Crowley has to stop his hand from yanking away. The angel presses on. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But Zadkiel would never lie. It goes against her very nature.”

And as much as he hated to admit it, Azazel wasn’t the _worst_ demon Hell had to offer. Peering down at the little sprog lain out in the cot, Crowley sighs. “It _is_ pretty cute, I guess.”

He can practically feel the angel beaming at him.


	3. Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babies cry. Babies cry A LOT.

It’s a demon.

It’s _definitely_ a demon.

Crowley throws his arm over his head in a weak attempt to drown out the sound of wailing. It’s been like this for a couple of nights now. Putting the baby down to sleep always goes well. It is in a habit of sleeping for a few hours, waking up and feeding, then going back to sleep again. Even he has to admit, the sprog has a good life so far. He’s actually quite jealous.

But there are moments in the night, when he’s deep in the trenches of sleep, he’ll be catapulted back into the waking world.

Crying. The little _demonic terror_ cries. All of the time. It’s as if it’s on a timer, waiting until Crowley is comfortable and wading through a dream. And then it’ll go off. Like a bloody air raid horn.

Aziraphale had the idea to bring the cot into their room after the first night. The thing was tired then. It slept the entire way through the night. _That shouldn’t be a problem_ , Crowley thought to himself as he watched the angel put the sprog down for the night. _It’ll be easier to keep an eye on the thing._

Since then, though, it’s been an alarm going off every two or three hours.

Crowley huffs. He can feel the body next to his roll away from him, and leave the bed. As the sheets are pulled away, a sliver of cold air worms in and prickles his bare skin. “ _Leave it,_ angel,” he grumbles into the crook of his arm. “It’ll tire itself out eventually.”

He doesn’t get a response. Footfalls pad across the room to the foot of their bed, and suddenly, the wailing gets worse.

“Oh for the love of,” Crowley huffs, sitting up and glaring at the angel and the crying, red-faced gremlin in his arms. “Is there an off switch?”

Aziraphale frowns – or as much of a frown as he can manage. “They can’t help it, Crowley,” he admonishes. With gentled hands, he lifts the baby out of its cot and rests it in the crook of his arm. Almost instantly, the crying stops.

Crowley’s brows knit together. “See?” he nods to the baby. “Just looking for attention.” The angel rolls his eyes and wanders over to one of the lancet windows of his bedroom. For the past couple of days, Crowley has been here. He went to his own flat to get a couple of things, things now scattered and strung about within Aziraphale’s home, but other than that, he hasn’t left the angel’s side.

There’s still no word from its parents. Zadkiel and Azazel have dropped off the face of the earth. He didn’t expect to hear anything from them. Not for a while, anyway. If they were truly in that amount of danger, he isn’t surprised that they just vanished. He can only imagine the world of trouble both Gabriel and Beelzebub would have stored away for them if they found out.

But it’s still a niggling thought in the back of his mind—

Crowley gathers some of the sheets in his arms, trying to warm himself back up. “I’m telling you, angel,” he grumbles, “they’ve done a runner.”

Aziraphale looks out on to the cityscape of London. He tilts his body in such a way as to let the thing see. “This is London,” he tells it quietly, freeing an arm to point out some of the buildings on the horizon. Although, even in their section of the city, there aren’t many important landmarks to be seen.

Though, she does seem fascinated with the lights. Right in the centre of the town, lights still glow against the ink black sky. Nightlife that Crowley used to indulge in continues on, regardless of the rest of the city.

With his head cushioned against the nest of pillows they tend to amass at the bed’s headboard, Crowley watches the angel closely. He continues to waffle on about the city, telling the cretin about the parks and monuments and other bookshops dotted around.

 _As if we’d keep it for that long_ , Crowley thinks. Something in his chest tightens. Angina. That’s what he’s been calling it. He isn’t entirely sure that demons can get angina. But it certainly feels like it. But every time it happens, it squeezes his heart to the point of pain.

With Aziraphale looking as though he won’t return to bed any time soon, Crowley huffs. He throws off the bedsheets and snaps his fingers. A pair of old sweatpants that had been thrown to some corner of the room appears back on his legs.

He clears the room within a matter of strides. He brushes his fingers along the small of Aziraphale’s back. Even though a light linen shirt, he can feel the heat of the angel’s skin. Looking over Aziraphale’s shoulder, Crowley peers down at the creature. It’s cute, he’ll admit that. But in the same way a puppy or kitten might be cute, and suddenly there’s mess everywhere and half of your socks have holes in them. Not that this thing will be chewing on socks. Not that Crowley can imagine, anyway.

Aziraphale turns his head and nudges Crowley’s cheek with his nose. “I know you don’t like her,” he says gently. The words barely carry through the air. It’s only because Crowley stands plastered to Aziraphale’s side that he manages to hear them. “I know that this may be...inconvenient for you. But I promised someone that we’d look after her.”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “I know. I know.” He cards his fingers through the angel’s hair. Curls have started to stick out in all directions. Crowley tries to smooth them back in place. “It’s just...we went from being on our own to having to take care of another living thing.”

Aziraphale tightens his hold on the child. It coos in response. “Master Warlock-”

“Warlock doesn’t count, angel,” Crowley sighs. No. He really _doesn’t_ count. And they have no right to say that Adam turned out fine. Apart from a few hiccups, the boy is remarkably human. A perfect balance of good and evil. And neither Aziraphale nor Crowley have anything to do with it.

So Whoever only knows how this one will end up.

Crowley blinks as a chaste kiss is pressed to his cheekbone. “Could you at least stop calling it an _it_ ,” he mumbles. “Or a _cretin_ , or _sprog_ , or anything else you have grumbled?”

The demon looks down at the baby. The ash-coloured eyes always get him. Demon eyes are black. Angels have this vibrant purple hue in their irises. But these eyes have no colour in them whatsoever. The baby’s nose scrunches.

“Sure,” Crowley eventually answers. He pulls some of the baby’s swaddling blanket away from her face, but almost instantly, his finger is nabbed by a tiny hand. The tiniest fingers he’s ever seen, almost matchsticks, can’t wrap around his entire finger. But her grip is firm.

“She’ll adore you,” Aziraphale smiles, gently swaying.

Crowley’s finger is still trapped; though he makes no move to free it. “She’ll be head over heels for you too, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I was originally going to have this be the OG fic and the rest of the drabbles were going to be separate, but you know what, that's far too much effort. So even though this work will be COMPLETED in the eyes of the AO3 Sorting Gods, just know that I'll be adding to it as days pass. 
> 
> Thank x
> 
> [This fic was written because I had another one ready to go, but Crowley seemed, idk, a bit too accepting of the fact that there is this child now in their life and from a characterisation pov i didn't like it so here we goooooo]

**Author's Note:**

> God this seems to be a trope for any fandom I'm in lol This is also going to be part of a series of fics/drabbles about their adventures with Baby so *shrug*
> 
> Tumblr: yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com
> 
> Comments & Kudos are gladly appreciated.


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